Salt, Sweat, Sugar
by Caliente
Summary: WWII AU –– Christine Chapel thought she knew where her life was going, then war broke out and she met a man named McCoy and things weren't that straightforward anymore. –– featuring Dr. Puri, Roger Korby, Joanna McCoy and lots of other Trek folks in mostly minor roles


**Author's Notes: **This fic was written for circ_bamboo at the mccoy_chapel holiday exchange. The prompt was anything in a post-Elizabethan historical AU with a preference for WWII. (My first time doing anything historical, ahh!) Liberties were taken with the time period regarding race, religion and just general prejudice but I did try to keep it realistic_-ish_. (Although, I did take most of my cues from _Saving Private Ryan _and _Pearl Harbor_.) Um, spoilers for the Trek film in as far is possible in an AU. And it's war, so death is mentioned. The title comes from the Jimmy Eats World song _Bleed American_, which is not mine. Special thanks to izzylane for the lightning quick beta; any mistakes left are mine and mine alone. Also lots of love to livelovehump and joyeuxnoel for general support and hand-holding. Cheers!  
**Disclaimer:** Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

**Salt, Sweat, Sugar  
**by Bether

* * *

_"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."_ —William Shakespeare

* * *

_(prologue)_

Everything up through Christine Chapel's sixteenth year is aces. She has a loving family, a doting older boyfriend who gave her a promise ring on her last birthday and a secure enough life that the war raging in Europe may as well be on another world for how much it affects her life. Sure, there's rationing and things like that but, really, it's not like there are bombs falling or something.

This all changes on a fateful December afternoon. Hawaii is another place that may as well be part of another world for how close it is to Christine, but that's American territory and suddenly the United States is at war, too. She doesn't expect this to really affect her life but her boyfriend (the man she plans to _marry_), Roger Korby, is drafted into service scarcely two months later. It's like she blinks and he's gone.

Suddenly the war feels much, much closer to home.

Christine throws herself into the war efforts with more vigor than she's ever displayed before. She thinks it's romantic, the way it's in the name of love. She writes to Roger weekly, wears his ring on her left ring finger—like they're already married because he has her heart. He can't write back nearly as often but she cherishes every one of his letters like they were made of gold.

Not one month before Christine's eighteenth birthday, she receives word that Roger's been killed in combat. To say she's inconsolable is an understatement. She doesn't eat, can't _breathe_. Roger was her soul mate—she knows he was! What's she supposed to do now? She'll never be whole again and it hurts. God, it hurts _so much_.

It strikes her like a lightning bolt in the days leading to her birthday—she's brokenhearted, yes, but she's also _angry_. She hates this war and that Roger had to die for it. She hates the mustached man who started this mess and the men in planes who dragged the U.S. into it. She tries to tell her mother this but all she gets in return is a prim, "Christine, a _lady_ controls her temper."

Fine. Christine can be in control. She waits until the day after her birthday, packs a bag and goes to the recruitment office. She's going to join this fight in whatever way she can because she _is_ mad and what does she really have left here, anyway? Her future died with Roger. She knows her parents would _never_ approve—they raised a Southern belle, not a common _nurse_—but that's why she doesn't tell them.

She's accepted into the ranks and whisked off before she has time to wrap her head around these rash decisions she's made. (She's not the sort to do rash things—no one in her family is.) Christine pens a letter to her parents apologizing for just up and leaving like that, but she never sends it. Because, in truth, she's _not_ sorry. Her future may be gone but her life has purpose again and that's _something_.

…

**i.**

It's at her first posting after basic that she meets Leonard McCoy. He's arguing loudly with an administrator during the physical evaluations. "I'm a student, not a soldier!" Christine thinks that even if he wasn't yelling, she'd notice him for his distinct Southern drawl. "And I'm not a medic, either—I've only got two years of med school under my belt!"

"Look, I'm sorry Mr. McCoy," despite his claim, the administrator does not actually sound sorry, "but your number was called and your appeal rejected. So I suggest you fall in before someone takes notice."

McCoy lets out an aggravated growling sound as he rips the papers from the man's hands and stomps over to Christine's station. Months ago, ferocity like that would've flustered her but she's since gotten used to the way men act when they don't realize (or care) there's a lady present. She simply casts a disapproving frown his way as she accepts the paperwork, skimming for the portions relevant to her.

When she looks up again, he's just standing there and it's all she can do not to roll her eyes. Men—they're helpless without direction. (Roger had been exactly the same way.) "Drop your pants and lean on the table." His eyes widen and he looks poised to argue, so she cuts him off: "You need your shots updated."

Scowling, he does as she instructs. "So," Christine is used to making small talk as she works because it seems to relax the men, "you're a medic?"

"Apparently." She can hear the frown in his tone as she measures out dosages. "Two more years and I would've been a doctor." The bitterness hangs in the air like a foul odor.

Christine wrinkles her nose as she moves behind him. (She's seen so many men's butts by now that she's essentially immune but this specimen is rather fine, she decides.) "This may sting," she warns, then jabs him in a manner she hopes will hurt him the least.

McCoy lets out a small hiss but nothing more.

Once that's taken care of, Christine marks off his paperwork and smiles, despite the fact that she's facing away from him. After all, she's still a lady and there's nothing wrong with a little propriety, even in the military. "That should do it for you here, Mr. McCoy," she informs him. "You can move on to the eye exam."

There's a moment, then McCoy takes the papers from her and nods. "Thank you, Nurse."

"Chapel," she supplies impulsively. She doesn't know why she does it—unlike many of the other nurses, she doesn't make it a habit to socialize with the other gender. But it's out there now, so she offers her hand. "Christine Chapel."

He shakes her hand once, grip firm. "Leonard McCoy."

Christine smiles again. "A pleasure to meet you."

He inclines his head in return. "Likewise."

The rest of the day is more of the same, minus the pleasantries. In other words, just another day on the job.

* * *

The second time she meets him, Christine's checking beds in the base hospital. It's the night shift and she's tired, so she doesn't notice him at first. But when she hears her name, she turns and there's Leonard McCoy sitting beside a bed with a pretty blond boy in it. (She doesn't usually describe men as pretty but something about this one just… is.)

"Mr. McCoy. What're you doing here?" She makes sure to keep her voice low so as to not wake the injured man.

McCoy gestures to his companion. "Kirk here got into a fight with some locals. Practically had to drag him in here but his shoulder was dislocated, so I couldn't help him myself."

That explains the sling on his arm, she thinks. "A fight, hm?" She's not unfamiliar with such things, but she doesn't approve. (Roger hadn't, either.)

"Yeah, the idiot." It should be an insult but he says the word with such fondness, she thinks it might just be a term of endearment between them.

Christine smiles a little. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

There's a moment's hesitation before McCoy replies, "A pillow sure would be nice…"

"Of course." She walks to a nearby supply closet and grabs two, just in case, before returning to the bedside. "Anything else?"

McCoy, whose gaze had been on Kirk, turns toward her. "No, thank you."

When morning rolls around and she's performing bed checks again both McCoy and Kirk are gone. Christine mentally chastises them but doesn't bother writing it up—she has enough paperwork as it is.

* * *

The thing about Jim Kirk is that once you're in his sphere, you're _in his sphere_. So when he shows up at the hospital during her next shift, a wide smile on his face and a scowling McCoy in tow, Christine's not certain what to think. She settles for professionalism. "Mr. Kirk, I see you're out of the sling. I hope you're feeling well?"

If it's possible, his grin grows wider. "I'm wonderful, Nurse Christine." She doesn't bother to ask how he knows who she is—if McCoy didn't tell him, one of the staff easily could've. "I just wanted to stop by and thank you for being so nice to Bones when I was laid up here the other night."

She has the distinct impression she missed something here. "Bones?"

Kirk jerks his thumb toward McCoy. "Bones."

Again, Christine doesn't bother to ask. This time, though, it's because she thinks she probably doesn't want to know. Stories behind the ridiculous nicknames these boys give each other are often not to be shared with ladies. Instead, she smiles patiently. "Of course—it's my job."

There's a twinkle in Kirk's too-blue eyes that worries her. "Uh-huh." He takes her hand and kisses the back gallantly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Chapel."

Bemused, she tugs her hand back. "Likewise, Mr. Kirk."

"Jim," he corrects with a winning smile.

Christine's not having any of that, though—she keeps things professional as a matter of _pride_. "Mr. Kirk."

For some reason, though, that seems to amuse Jim.

McCoy cuffs him on the back of the head and smiles a little apologetically—it's a better look for him than the sour lemon puss. "You'll have to excuse him; he thinks he's charming."

Kirk is pouting now, which makes Christine shake her head just a little. "I imagine he's not the only one." She smiles, though, because the two men are handsome and entertaining—for what that's worth.

He rubs the back of his head. "Nice seein' you again, miss." Then McCoy shepherds Kirk out of the hospital area before he can comment. (And if the smirk he's wearing is any indication, he was planning to.)

Another nurse, a redhead named Gaila Nicholson who generally works opposite shifts from Christine, sidles up to her after the men have gone. "How do you know Jim Kirk?" she asks, eyes alight with curiosity.

Christine shrugs. "I don't really. He just came by to… introduce himself, I suppose." Although she still has the feeling she's missing something. (Later, she'll learn this is a common occurrence around Kirk.)

"Mm." Gaila smiles salaciously and sashays away.

It's only after she's gone that Christine realizes she might be _implying_ something. But by then it's too late to correct that mistaken assumption, so she just lets it lie. Anyone who knows her will know it's hogwash, anyway. She hopes.

* * *

The frequency with which Christine runs into Kirk (and McCoy by proxy) is uncanny. She learns more about them, too—Kirk's an Iowa farmboy who lost his dad in WWI (never even met him, apparently) and has a serious problem with authority. He likes to joke his CO got him to enlist by tricking him but rumor has it the man issued more of a challenge than anything else. Christine can believe that; Kirk's the type to rise to baiting if the number of barfights he takes part in is any indication.

McCoy, on the other hand, is a third generation doctor—or would be in two years if not for the war. He's Georgian (but she forgives him that) with a fondness for well-aged bourbon. He had to leave behind a pregnant wife ("we're naming her Joanna if it's a girl and Leonard, Jr. if it's a boy") and his ailing father, something that weighs heavily on him. He doesn't have a high tolerance for bullshit, which makes his friendship with Kirk all the more interesting, and is really a talented field medic by all reports.

In fact, their friendship is so curious Christine just has to ask one day. Kirk tells her that they met on the train in Iowa, shared a drink and that's that. She doesn't know if that's really it but McCoy only grunts, so it probably is—he likes to argue with Kirk too much to let it go if it's not.

She also learns about the rest of their company.

There's the Soviet-born navigator prodigy Pavel Androvich Chekov with an adorable baby face who cannot be more than fourteen if a day. How he enlisted is a mystery to everyone, but they don't call him a genius for nothing, so no one objects too loudly. It can be a challenge understanding him at times as his accent is so heavy, but it's generally worth the effort to try.

The man behind the wheel is Hikaru Sulu. He traded life in the Internment Camps for the service—a story that Christine does not get too much detail on but it sounds like he left a family and a girl behind. This tugs at the part of her deep inside still mourning Roger. Somehow, though, he manages to keep a cheerful disposition about himself. He's Japanese by ancestry only, he says, which she thinks probably helps but still. She doesn't think she could do the same in his position.

Their communications expert is dark-skinned man who seems to know more languages than anyone she's ever met. Seriously, he speaks Swahili, English, German, French, Japanese and Swedish—plus, Chekov is helping him learn Russian. She can't pronounce his first name, so she (and everyone else) just calls him Uhuru. He's a gentle soul with a soft spot for his sister, Nyota, who writes him as faithfully as she had Roger. He shows her a picture one day and Christine is taken aback by just how beautiful the woman is with her elegant dark eyes and a regal air about her.

The man with a rough Scottish brogue is Montgomery Scott, munitions expert, but everyone calls him Scotty. He likes to wind tales about his misspent youth in Aberdeen and drink hard liquor (rumor is he's even trying to make his own), but he's almost always smiling and quite possibly the friendliest person she's ever met. Even if he too can be difficult to understand at the best of times.

Second-in-command is a stiff man of apparent Jewish ancestry by the name of Spock. (Well, he has other names, she's certain, but no one ever calls him anything other than Spock.) He's hard to get talking but she suspects the war in Europe is harder for him than the others might think because there's a telling sadness in his eyes. He never speaks of it, though—not even when the village in Poland where he spent his youth is destroyed and his mother and brother are killed by the Nazis. Her heart breaks for him all the same.

And then there's the leader of the bunch: Christopher Pike. He's handsome with grey streaks in his hair and all the experience his team is lacking. Christine likes him for his kind eyes and good humor about the antics pulled by Kirk and the rest. She hardly ever sees him out and about, though, and she wonders what it is he does in his free time. Or maybe it's different for officers than enlisted. She's still too green to be really certain.

And that's the Enterprise Company. They're a motley crew if base rumor is anything to go by but also some of the best—although she's still not entirely sure what Kirk's role is with the group. He's artful at dodging the topic whenever it comes up; it's actually quite impressive.

* * *

Still, despite all their run-ins, Christine is able to politely decline all of Kirk's invitations off base without ever offending. With McCoy as his friend, she supposes he probably doesn't offend easily but regardless. Her manners are as impeccable as when she left Louisiana; her momma would be proud. As a consolation, she allows him and anyone with him to join her whenever they take meals at the same time.

She thinks the reason he chooses to eat with her and not the other women on base has to do with this one _particular _incident. It went like this:

It's lunchtime and Christine is in the mess rereading _Emma_ for the tenth or so time. She's just at the part where Emma meets Frank Churchill for the first time when she hears her name called.

"Nurse Christine, hello!" Jim Kirk is standing behind the chair next to her holding a tray with Leonard McCoy on the opposite side. They've already sat with her a handful of times; however, this time there also appear to be a few other men hovering uncertainly nearby.

She smiles as she places a bookmark in her novel. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kirk, Mr. McCoy." Christine gestures to the table. "You and your friends are welcome to join me."

A grin lights up his face and Kirk takes the seat he's standing behind with McCoy claiming the one across from her. The others join too, introducing themselves as they sit—Scott beside Kirk and Uhuru across from him, Chekov on McCoy's right and Sulu on his left facing Kirk. Although this is their first face to face, she feels as if she already knows them from the stories Kirk loves to wind. It's nice, though, to put faces to names. (She does note that neither Spock nor Pike, the other two Company members, are anywhere to be found but it'll soon become obvious that isn't an unusual occurrence.)

Generally this is when Kirk would fill her in on their latest exploits but today he's curiously silent. She decides to prompt the conversation: "So what have you gentlemen been up to?"

"Ve haf been playing chess!" Chekov replies excitedly, blushing. She hadn't expected him to appear so impossibly young but he's exactly as Kirk said.

McCoy shakes his head. "Kid hasn't lost a game yet. He's gotta be some kinda—prodigy."

Kirk sighs dramatically. "I almost had him. But he hasn't faced Spock yet." He tilts his head. "Doesn't he seem like the sort who'd be good at games involving logic and strategy?"

A small snort escapes McCoy.

Christine waits for a moment but no one else responds. "I miss something?"

"Bones here has gotten into it with Spock a few times," Sulu explains, clapping the man on the shoulder with a friendly smile.

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Look, I just don't like the way he talks about casualties. Those are _men_ dying out there—soldiers just like us! Where's his compassion?"

Christine frowns. "Where's yours?" she asks, fully recognizing that she's being impertinent and not entirely caring. "The man's homeland has been overrun by Nazi's and hundreds of thousands of people are dead." She grimaces; just thinking of the numbers still makes her cringe. "Did it ever occur to you the only way he knows how to deal with it is by removing the emotional aspect?"

Flushing a little, McCoy stabs his plate with his fork.

"Well, I'll be." Kirk grins wide. "Someone finally struck Bones speechless."

All the men share a laugh at McCoy's expense, which makes Christine feel guilty. When they're done eating, she pulls him aside. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

McCoy puts a hand on her shoulder. (His hands are large and she wonders absently if he was studying to be a surgeon before his number was called.) "Nurse Chapel, it's fine. You were right. I just…" He shakes his head. "Sometimes I have trouble considering other peoples perspectives—and letting go of old prejudices."

Smiling, Christine nods. "I know what you mean." Sometimes it's hard to remember not everyone grew up with the same ideals as her—_especially_ when those everyones are women with loose morals.

* * *

After that afternoon, a budding friendship forms between Christine and McCoy. They talk of shared experiences growing up in the South and lament the lack of sweet tea and grits. It surprises her to find they have quite a bit in common beyond location and experience in the medical field. They share similar tastes in novels, are both only children with large extended families and neither ever had any aspirations to move beyond their small town existence.

Christine enjoys their conversations quite a bit. She doesn't even realize how much until word comes in that Enterprise Company is shipping out. Not just shipping out—

"We're going after Nero!" Jim Kirk is inordinately excited about this. He's been bouncing around the hospital ward since he arrived with McCoy to give her the news. "Finally. _Finally._" He pumps a fist in the air as he bounds over to another nurse to share the news.

Christine shoots McCoy a questioning look and he is uncharacteristically somber when he speaks, "Nero was one of Wilhelm's go-to generals; he's the one who executed Jim's father."

Instantly Christine sobers. "Oh."

"Yeah." McCoy frowns. "He was held in a French labor camp until Hitler made his way there. After being liberated, Nero pledged his loyalty to Hitler and has been reigning terror throughout Europe ever since," he explains with a grimace. "Word is he's the one who carried out the mass executions in Spock's town, too." He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

It's the most agitated she's seen him and Christine has the urge to comfort him somehow. She puts a hand on his arm and squeezes. "You'll stop him."

McCoy smiles a little but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Or die trying," he says dryly.

Kirk draws his attention away before Christine has a chance to respond. "Bones! C'mon, I have more ladies to visit before we leave in the morning!"

"Of course you do," he grumbles under his breath. Shaking his head again, McCoy pats Christine on the shoulder. "Take care, Nurse Chapel."

There's only a moment, so she simply reciprocates: "You too, Mr. McCoy."

With a wave he's gone. Christine doesn't see McCoy, Kirk or any of the rest of Enterprise Company before they leave. She misses them more than she anticipates—McCoy most of all. (It isn't just his conversation, either; it's his face, his accent, his friendship, his _presence._) Even as new people drift in and out of her life, she never forgets them. They stay in her mind and in her prayers.

…

_(interlude)_

Christine sees Enterprise Company only once more before the end of the war in Europe. Word of their exploits comes infrequently but she has a friend in one of the general's secretaries, Janice Rand, so she knows when they reach enemy lines and when communications is cut off and when Pike is captured and when they have to make a tactical retreat and when they head back to stop Nero and save Pike. There's nothing for months after that until word finally comes that Nero is dead, Pike is grievously injured and Uhuru has been killed. (Hence the lack of communications.)

Pike does not return with the rest as his condition is still critical but the remainder of Enterprise Company brings Uhuru's body home. Christine sees, for the first time in person, his beautiful sister Nyota as she cries silently over her brother's coffin. Spock keeps close to her, a comforting hand resting on her back and she hopes her grief is helping him deal with his own.

Kirk is hailed as a hero having stepped up as leader in Pike's absence and McCoy, as well, for saving Pike's life. They stand together with the rest of the Company as Uhuru is awarded honors posthumously. After, Christine gives Nyota a hug and shakes hands with Kirk, McCoy and the rest. She tells them she's glad they survived and that they got Nero. Kirk grins widely, but he's not the same, she can tell. There's something new in his eyes.

Afterward, the Company ships back out to Britain and then for parts unknown. Whatever they're up to, word isn't coming back to their base—not that Janice is hearing, anyway. Thankfully, the war in Germany is over a handful of months later and then Japan concedes not long after that. Christine is released from the service shortly thereafter.

Christine decides to return home despite her reservations. She hasn't spoken to her parents since leaving, and she doesn't know how they'll react to her sudden reappearance. In the end, all her worrying is for naught. Her mother bursts into tears at the sight of her, wrapping her in a tight hug and even her usually stoic father gets misty eyed.

At first, they hardly let her out of their sight. Christine is overwhelmed by the attention but also touched. It's amazing how quickly she falls back into a routine. Despite all the time she's been gone, it feel like nothing has changed. She wants to find comfort in it but being thrust into the shoes of the lady she was feels wrong. It leaves her restless and frustrated. It's only lingering guilt over the way she left before that keeps her from running off again.

Eventually her father broaches the subject with her: "You're not happy." As is Patterson Chapel's way, he doesn't so much ask as state.

Christine can't meet his steady gaze. "I want to be," she says slowly. "You and Momma—you've given me everything a lady could want."

He takes her hands in his. "But not, I suspect, what you _need_." He smiles at her. "We want you with us, yes, but we want you happy more."

Tears form in her eyes and she has to swallow several times before she can speak. "Really?"

"Of course." Patterson kisses her knuckles gently. "Go and be happy, Christine. Just—call us every so often. So we know you're well."

Christine smiles widely and hugs her father enthusiastically. "Oh, Daddy! Thank you." She realizes she's crying and wipes her eyes quickly. "Thank you so much."

He kisses the top of her head and she feels lighter than she has in months—maybe longer. It isn't long before she's packed up and heading off to nursing school in Baton Rouge. She already knows the basics, of course, but there's more to the job than what her three month army course taught her. Still it helps and she's proud to say she's at the top of her class when she matriculates.

…

**ii.**

It's sheer dumb luck that Christine ends up working in Atlanta. She starts in Baton Rouge but then the doctor she's working for moves and, instead of finding a new job, she decides to go with him. (Puri is a precious man of sixty-three whose wife insists on having Christine over for dinner at least once a week and she just can't bear the thought of working for someone who won't respect her. She's seen it happen to too many of her colleagues.)

Although Puri's practice is private, he consults at the hospital twice a month and Christine is there to help as needed. It's maybe her second time there when she runs into a familiar face. "Mr. McCoy?" She doesn't mean to blurt out his name so loudly, but she's just really surprised to see him there. Before the war, he'd always lived in the same small town and it isn't close to Atlanta at all.

McCoy stops short, obviously surprised. "Doctor," he corrects automatically. He scratches his chin, which has a five o'clock shadow she never would've expected to see on him, and shrugs. "Finished my degree little over a year back."

Christine is staring, she knows she's staring, but she just can't help it. The man looks _haggard_ and, if such a thing is possible, droopy. Like his whole being is sagging under the weight of something. "Oh." She shakes herself out of it. "Congratulations." She tries to smile. "I know that's what you wanted."

"Yeah." He straightens a little. "Thank you." His gaze sweeps over her momentarily. "And you're still nursing, I see."

For some reason his simple statement of fact makes Christine feel self-conscious, though she has no idea why. "Yes. I went to school to get my license and now I work with Dr. Puri."

McCoy nods. "Puri, good man."

A sort of awkward silence falls between them until a nurse a few years McCoy's senior comes up to him and hands him a chart. Christine takes the opportunity to excuse herself and find Puri again. She stays on edge for the rest of the day, though, despite not seeing McCoy again. Honestly, she doesn't understand it herself.

* * *

After that, Christine sees McCoy nearly every time she visits the hospital with Puri. It's odd because the hours are always different but, the way he looks, she's half-convinced he's living there. Their exchanges are always awkward, though she can't put her finger on why. She does note that he isn't wearing a wedding ring anymore but he _is_ a surgeon, so he probably can't whenever he operates and maybe he just keeps it off during his shifts or something.

Christine stays late one night with one of Puri's patients—a young girl with four siblings and parents who just can't devote the time and attention to her she deserves. She's having her tonsils removed, which is a routine procedure, but Christine can see she's scared because surgery is _surgery_. Besides, she's only eight; needing a little handholding is to be expected. So, after Puri leaves, Christine returns to her room to read her stories and teach her card games until she falls asleep.

Then Christine cleans up everything because she's not going to leave the girl's room a mess for some other poor nurse to deal with. She's just about to go when she catches sight of McCoy in the doorway. He's a silhouette illuminated by the bright hallway light and it startles her into dropping the deck of cards she's holding. They spread far and wide and Christine's face is burning as she crouches down to pick them up again.

McCoy mirrors her, helping silently. "Sorry," he says when he hands her what he's collected. "I didn't mean to scare you." He nods to the patient. "I was just coming to make sure Sally was sleeping all right. She had nightmares last night."

Casting a pitying glance at the little girl, Christine shakes her head. "She seems fine. I read her some fairytales to distract her."

"Good, good." McCoy looks down at her as she busies herself with putting the cards in a box. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

Christine nearly drops the cards again. She looks at McCoy and there's something in his expression that has her agreeing before she even realizes it. "Okay."

Their walk down to the cafeteria is silent. McCoy insists on getting the meals, so Christine picks out a table and sits. When he returns with roast beef, mashed potatoes and veggies, she nods her approval. Looks like a balanced meal to her and she does love gravy.

Conversation lulls again when they tuck in. Christine uses the time to demolish most of her food and work up the courage to broach the subject of curiosity she's been avoiding. "So, how long have you been working here?"

"Since I got my MD," McCoy replies after he swallows. "I did my surgical internship under Dr. Boyce."

Christine nods. "Did you and the family move here after you graduated then?"

McCoy's entire demeanor changes, his body stiffening as he puts his fork down. "No. No, just me." There's anger in his voice. "Jocelyn left me for her old boyfriend, Clay Treway. Served me with divorce papers the day I got back."

Horrified, Christine raises her hand to her mouth. "Oh God." And then an even worse realization hits her—"What about the baby?"

"Courts gave Jocelyn full custody of Joanna." He shakes his head bitterly.

Christine's heart breaks for him. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry. That's just—terrible." He'd been so excited to be a daddy; it was wrong of Jocelyn to keep that from him. She reaches for his hand but remembers herself and stops. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to—"

McCoy waves her off. "I know," he says gruffly, looking away.

The rest of the meal passes quickly with only sparse conversation and Christine feels awful. She can't help it. She hates knowing what that weight on McCoy's shoulders is and not being able to do anything to help. More than that, though, she hates what happened to him. He's a really decent human being—always has been. He doesn't deserve what he's been given.

* * *

When Puri tells Christine he's retiring, it's not entirely unexpected. Mrs. Puri's health wasn't great in Baton Rouge, which had prompted the move to Atlanta. Her condition improved some but it was short-lived and there's been some talk of moving down to Florida. He's selling his practice to a nice young doctor from Boston and she's welcome to stay on with him if she likes.

Christine meets the man and knows almost instantly it isn't going to work. She applies to work at the hospital instead—in the pediatrics department, since those are the patients she feels for the most—and asks Puri to put in a good word for her. He does and just like that she's got a brand new job. Well, not quite but it certainly _feels_ that way, everything moves so quickly.

Naturally, this leads her to see McCoy more frequently, though their interactions now take on a mostly professional tone. Christine hasn't been his direct subordinate before and is a little wary initially but he keeps a respectful if brusque tone most of the time. (When people are not performing, his whole countenance shifts and, well, suffice to say she's glad to have never been on the receiving end of _that_.)

She's been working full-time at the hospital for only a few weeks when Jim Kirk visits. Christine finds out almost immediately because he arrives when she's on shift. Of _course_. Jim Kirk has always had impeccable timing. "Nurse Christine!" He's waving as he bounds over to her with all the enthusiasm she remembers. "Bones said you worked here but I didn't believe him." He clasps her on the shoulders, grinning. "How are you?"

"I'm—fine. Good." Christine blinks, trying to reconcile this out of context appearance. "I—what are you doing here, Mr. Kirk?"

Kirk grins. "Captain," he corrects proudly. "I'm on leave, so I thought I'd come visit Bones." He leans down as if imparting a secret. "You know how he misses me when I'm gone."

Smothering a laugh, Christine nods. "I'm sure." She smiles. "It's good to see you, _Captain_."

"Likewise." Kirk waves McCoy over before continuing, "Bones, I was just going to invite Nurse Christine out with us."

Christine glances at the patient room she'd been heading for. "Well, I—"

Tutting twice, he shoots her a puppy-dog pout. "I accepted all your rebuffs before but this time I _insist_."

McCoy smacked him on the back of the head. "If she doesn't want to come—"

"No." Christine smiles. "I'd be honored to join you. _After_ my shift." Then she excuses herself and wonders why she's just accepted the invitation when she had an out. But maybe things will be better between her and McCoy with Kirk there. They certainly can't be _worse_.

* * *

The gin mill McCoy takes them to is one he must frequent somewhat regularly because the bartender nods to him and sends over a drink without an order being given. Kirk takes it from under McCoy's nose wearing a shit eating grin.

With a roll of his eyes, McCoy stands and looks at Christine. "What can I get ya?"

"Um…" Christine flushes. "I don't know. Something sweet?"

Kirk looks poised to respond but McCoy beats him to it. "I know just the thing." He jogs to the bar.

When she turns back to the table, she sees Kirk watching her. "Don't drink much?" he asks.

"It isn't proper for a lady," she replies, smoothing her skirt. In truth, she feels a little bit naughty even just _being_ there. But it's also thrilling in the way new things often are and the company is good.

Kirk laughs; it's a sound she hadn't realized she missed but she's glad to hear it all the same.

A minute later McCoy returns with another drink like the one Kirk poached and something well garnished in a taller glass. "What is it?" Christine asks as she accepts the glass, inspecting it closely.

"Mint julep," McCoy replies. "A favorite of mine. Think you're gonna like it, Chapel."

And that's the last thing Christine remembers of the night.

* * *

When Christine wakes up in the morning, she's in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. She lets out a shriek and leaps out of bed. To her relief, she's still fully clothed. Unfortunately, the quick movement unsettles her stomach and makes her head spin. Also, it's kind of overly bright in this room and she has a new understanding of the term cottonmouth. Sitting on the bed, she cradles her head in her hands and tries to remember, well, _anything_.

That's when Jim Kirk races in, a thick book held high over his head. Startled, Christine lets out another cry and Kirk drops the book. "Ah, sorry," he apologizes quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought maybe there was something in here needed killing."

"Oh." Christine blinks a few times, trying to get used to the light. "No." There's an awkward pause before she can work up the nerve to ask: "So, uh, what happened last night?"

It quickly becomes obvious Kirk is trying not to laugh. "Well, you _reeeeally_ liked the mint juleps…"

Christine covers her face with her hands. "Oh Lord. I take it back. I don't want to know. Just—where am I?"

"Bones' place." She peeks between her fingers to see Kirk shrug. "You told us your boardinghouse had a no drinking policy and that men were only allowed in the sitting room. I wanted to go for it, anyway, but Bones said the woman who runs the place was the fearsome sort. So we brought you here instead. You got the bed, Bones took the couch and I was relegated to the floor."

The way Kirk bemoans his fate makes it impossible for Christine not to smile. "Sorry."

Kirk just shrugs again. "I've had worse."

Stretching a little, Christine nods toward the door. "Where is Dr. McCoy?"

"Bones got called into the hospital for something." Kirk offers her a hand and she accepts, letting him help her up. "Want some breakfast?"

Following him out, Christine shakes her head—and immediately regrets it. "All I want is to take some aspirin and sleep until tomorrow."

Kirk follows behind her, smiling a little. "Welcome to your first hangover." He picks her coat off McCoy's rack and helps her into it before picking up his own. "Here, I'll walk you."

Although generally very independent, Christine doesn't argue. She feels awful and has no idea where McCoy lives as compared to the hospital or her boarding house, so the company's welcome. Besides, it's been a long time since she's seen Kirk (minus last night, which she doesn't remember) and she's keen to renew their acquaintance.

As it turns out, they have a very nice walk. At the end, Christine gets his address, so they can exchange letters, and tells him she hopes to see him again before he leaves. She doesn't realize that most of their conversation—after the usual pleasantries/life catch-up—revolves around McCoy. (Kirk does but doesn't say anything; no one ever listens to him, anyway.)

* * *

Spring in Atlanta is beautiful. It lifts Christine's spirits and makes the city feel more like home than it ever has before. The warm weather and blooming flowers seems to have a similar effect on most everyone with one exception: Leonard McCoy. He stalks the halls with thunderclouds over his head for two weeks straight before not showing up to work at all.

Christine doesn't know why, exactly, but she's worried about the man. She thinks about it for her entire shift, and, when she takes an unexpected turn on her walk home, she decides to just go with it.

McCoy's townhouse looks nicer when her head doesn't feel like it's been split open by a few too many blows to the head. She knocks on the door and rings the bell until she hears a voice bellow, "It's open!" from deep within. Christine wonders if he's expecting someone because most people she knows would at least answer the door in person.

It all makes sense when she enters to find him hunched over his kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of bourbon and an empty glass in front of him. McCoy's eyes are hooded as he looks at her. "Chapel? What're you doing here?" He sounds far more sober than she expects.

Christine crosses to the table and sits in the chair opposite his. "I was worried about you." She thinks she should probably be embarrassed admitting it—he's a grown man, he doesn't need her fretting over him—but that's secondary to her remaining concern. Because something isn't right here. He just looks so… broken. She hates to see him this way."I still am."

"Yeah, well," McCoy pours himself another drink, "maybe you should be."

Placing a hand on his arm to stop his movements, Christine is all sympathy. "Why? What's happened?"

For a moment she thinks he's going to wave her off but McCoy just heaves a heavy sigh. "Today is Joanna's birthday. Tried to send her a card," he shakes his head, "came back marked _return to sender_." He scrubs his palms over his eyes. "I just—she doesn't even know my name. Doesn't know who I am. Calls Jocelyn's new husband Daddy." His voice cracks a little and it breaks her heart. "She even—she even put _his_ name on the birth certificate. Got no rights to my little girl, not a one."

Christine doesn't know what she's doing, but she knows she has to do _something_. Standing, she moves to the chair beside him, pulling it close to his, and then wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. She knows it's an overly familiar gesture, and later she'll be mortified by her own forwardness but right then she has such a pressing need to comfort him, she doesn't care.

Judging by the way he hugs her back, she thinks she probably made the right decision. When he loosens his grip a little, she pulls back enough to meet his gaze. Christine puts one hand on either side of his face to keep his eyes on her. "You, Leonard McCoy, are a good man. You _are_." Her tone is insistent because everything from his slouch to the sad expression on his face tells her he doesn't believe it. With one hand she brushes some of his hair from his forehead. "And you deserve better."

She's still staring at him, willing him to believe her, when his hands find her waist. McCoy runs the fingers of one hand up her spine to the nape of her neck and then pulls her close, kissing her gently on the lips.

Christine knows exactly what she's supposed to do here. She should push him away, maybe slap him across the face for being so forward with her. That's what a _lady_ would do. But it's like her brain's turned off because all she can do is return the kiss.

Her sensibilities finally do kick in after a few seconds and Christine pulls away just a little. Her hands are still on either side of his face and she looks at him—_really_ looks. (He's beautiful, in a way. Not pretty like Kirk but handsome and a little tragic.)

She takes a shaky breath. "I…" Except Christine has no idea what to say.

There's something happening that she doesn't quite understand. All Christine knows is that her hands slide down to grip his collar as he pulls her into his lap and then they're kissing again. Not gently like before but in a way she hasn't been kissed since Roger was alive. (Because all the men she's gone out with have been gentlemen and she's pretty sure McCoy is one too, but gentlemen don't kiss ladies like this, not without making some kind of overture about their feelings. Thing is, she isn't stopping him, so maybe she's not as much the lady as she would like to believe.)

McCoy tastes of bitterness and later Christine will wonder if that's the bourbon, and _then_ she'll remember what her mother said about the evils of liquor and what it can do to men, and she won't know what to think about everything that happens. In the moment, though, she only knows the heat under her skin—the _something_ bubbling low in her stomach that makes her feel wicked and anxious and exultant. And there's him and her and it just fits.

Eventually Christine needs to catch her breath and so does McCoy if his panting is any indication. That's when reality comes crashing down around her. Here she is in a _man's_ apartment _kissing him_ after he's been _drinking_—and she doesn't even know why or what it means or what he thinks or _anything_.

Christine scrambles to stand, straightening her skirt self-consciously. "I should—" not meeting his eyes, she gestures toward the door—"you know." Then, before he can say anything, she flees.

Somewhere behind her, she thinks she might hear McCoy calling her name, but she doesn't stop. Not until she's several blocks away, breathing hard as her head spins. Christine covers her face with her hands and tries not to feel too mortified.

It's mostly a losing battle. Because, see, at some point between McCoy's townhouse and here, she's come to a disturbing conclusion: she is absolutely, without a doubt, incredibly attracted to Leonard McCoy. She's always assumed the knots in her stomach when they're together has to do with awkwardness from something or the other but it's nerves, plain and simple. Anxiety because he's _him_ and what could he ever want with her?

If only she had even an inkling of how _he _felt. But no. That'd be too easy.

* * *

It's cowardly, Christine knows, but she does her best to avoid McCoy after that. It only works for about three days, since there isn't much she can do about shared shifts. (And, as she learns later, he's single-minded in his determination to speak with her.)

Christine is folding blankets in an empty room when McCoy corners her. "Nurse Chapel—Christine." He's got this look on his face like he wants to smile but can't quite find the expression. It's cute—adorable, actually—and her stomach drops. She really is in trouble here.

Nodding to him, she hopes her face isn't as red as it feels. "Doctor McCoy." There's a moment of silence between them that stretches on too long and she has to break it. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"What?" McCoy shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. "No, no. I just—I wanted to talk to you about the other day." He rubs the back of his head. "I think you may have gotten the wrong idea…"

Christine holds up her hand, trying to ignore the way her chest is aching. The wrong idea—right. "Dr. McCoy, please." She really, _really _does not want to do this now. They're at _work_ and, honestly, she's not sure how long she can keep her cool here. "You don't have to explain."

His brows are furrowed. "No, Christine, I—"

That's when the PA System came crackling to life. "Dr. McCoy, please report to OR 2."

McCoy grits his teeth and clenches his fists obviously annoyed by the interruption "I have to—" He gestures vaguely behind him, frowning. "But this ain't over." The way he says it, she isn't sure if it's a warning or a promise.

Either way, Christine thinks she probably doesn't want to know.

* * *

McCoy is still in surgery when Christine gets off shift. Thanking the Lord for small favors, she doesn't even bother to change before heading to the boarding house.

She tries to keep busy by straightening up but that only lasts so long. Then she goes to the kitchen and helps some of the other tenants bake cookies. The ladies chat and eat said cookies when they're ready but it isn't as distracting as she'd hoped, and Christine is ready to excuse herself after an hour. (So what if all she has to do back in her room is sulk and cry as she reads _Pride and Prejudice_?)

That's when Helen races into the kitchen all wide-eyed excitement. "Christine!" She grabs her shoulders as she skids to a halt on the inlaid floors. "There's a _man_ here to see you." She looks around at the other women, grinning. "And he brought flowers!"

Christine blinks. "What?"

But Helen's already pushing her out the door and toward the common area. She gives one last shove toward the room and then stands as the others crowd around curiously. (Christine wonders if this is how Elizabeth Bennett felt in her house full of sisters.)

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Christine steps into the room. She makes sure to shut the door tightly behind her. Not that it'll stop her housemates from trying to eavesdrop, mind, but at least then there'll be some semblance of privacy.

She's already regretting it, though, when she sees who's standing in the middle of the room with an impressive bouquet of yellow daffodils—a favorite of hers, though she doesn't think he's ever had occasion to learn that particular fact. "Dr. McCoy." Christine is only able to stop her hands from shaking by pressing them against her skirt. She glances around but there's no easy escape, so she resigns herself to her fate and asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I—" He holds out the flowers. "These are for you."

Christine accepts them with a small nod. "Thank you. They're lovely." And they are—beautiful in quality and sweet in scent. After taking a moment for herself, she looks up at McCoy again. He hasn't answered her question, so she'll wait. It's obvious he means to have this conversation whether she wants it or not.

Clearing his throat, McCoy straightens. "You're welcome. I thought… well, it seemed that you—I mean, earlier when we spoke, I got the impression that you didn't—" He sighed, growling a little under his breath. "Dadgummit!"

While not an outright curse, Christine is still surprised by his vulgarity. McCoy has always kept a civil tongue around her, even when other men didn't bother. Beyond gaping at him, though, she can only think to say, "I'm sorry?"

"No, Miss Chapel, _I'm_ sorry. When you appeared the other day—I was selfish." He's staring at his hands and she tries to steel her nerves. Christine knows what's coming, has known. And she can handle it. This too will pass. "Taking liberties with you like that, that's not how I wanted to let you know."

Christine's brow furrows; McCoy isn't making much sense. "Know what?"

There's something anxious in the way he looks at her and she can't help but notice how much younger it makes him appear. "I—like you, Christine; I care for you. I had hoped to show you, to court you before… well. You know."

"Court me?" A smile is already playing her face and suddenly the butterflies in Christine's stomach don't feel so angry. More fluttery and light. "Doctor McCoy, are you asking me out?"

His ears are red as he steps closer, taking her hand. "If you'll have me."

Christine's grin widens. "I thought you'd never ask." (She wonders if he knows just how true that statement really is.) "Just let me put these in water and then you can take me to dinner."

McCoy nods and she gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it. As she heads for the kitchen, flanked by nosy housemates, she wonders if it's bad luck to hope this will be the last first date she ever has to endure. Then she decides it doesn't matter because she does—a thought that makes her smile and hug the flowers just a little bit closer to her chest.

…

_(epilogue)_

There's something to be said for living a few states away from one's parents, Christine thinks. Her mother and father have made it a point to visit every few months since her father's retirement but this is their longest stay yet—three weeks. Three _long_ weeks. Christine loves her mother, she does, but she's about ready to throttle her.

They're out shopping for the fourth time in the last week and Christine is _tired_. Her feet hurt and she's incredibly hungry. God, so hungry. Her mother promised they'd eat after the last store but _no_. "Just one more, Chrissy." Yeah, right. There's always one more with Lauren Chapel.

Of course, her mother remains blissfully ignorant to Christine's worsening mood, nattering on about the same things they've been discussing for days. "I like David or Thomas," she's saying, "but I just don't know about Leonard."

Christine puts her hands on her hips. "Momma, this is _hardly_ your decision. And _I_ happen to like Leonard."

Lauren tsks. "You said Leonard was going to name his child with his ex-wife that. He may be your husband now but you still can't use that name—it's _tainted_."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes (her mother can be so dramatic), Christine moves to the next rack of clothing. "Well, maybe it'll be a girl."

A hand lands on her shoulder and she looks up to see her mother's concerned face. "You're grumpy. Is my grandbaby hungry, Chrissy? We can't have that."

Now she does roll her eyes. There are times that her mother is a _ridiculous_ woman. "As a matter of fact, little Barbara or Leonard _is_ craving something drowned in gravy." Christine turns away from an adorable tiny sailor outfit. "'Sides, we can't buy too much 'til we know the baby's sex."

"You're right, you're right—I know you're right," Lauren says as she links Christine's arm through hers. "I'm just excited."

Christine pats her stomach—after four months of strange midnight cravings and Leonard's overprotectiveness, she's finally begun showing—and smiles softly. "I know. Me too."

And her husband makes three. He's taken to bringing home toys at least once a week and has already started converting their guest bedroom into a nursery. (Thankfully Jim Kirk visited and helped him out. Leonard may be good with his hands, but he isn't particularly skilled with a hammer.) She doesn't mind, though; she can't wait to see what a proud papa he's going to make.


End file.
